Everything about you is wonderful to me.
Everything.
I want to know everything about you,
I want to know what the kids called you in 4th grade on the playground
I want to know who your first boyfriend was and what your dad wanted to do when he broke your heart
I want to know who your favorite 80's synthopop band is
I want to know what you think of when you wake up at 4:26 in the morning with a stiff neck
I want to know what color you wish your softest skirt was
and I want to buy it for you.
I want to pick every single flower on earth and fill your arms with them.

I want to hear your voice when you're sick in bed
and I want to know what kind of tea to bring you
I want to know what movie you watch when you can't do it anymore
because that boy in your history class wouldn't stop calling you that word and ******* it you are not that word but this movie makes you feel better and it always has (it did in 4th grade when they called you that name on the playground)

I want to know which side of your face you prefer to have photographed
I want to know who you pray for
and if you think anybody is listening.

I want to know what your mother wanted to name you before your father convinced her otherwise because "Honey, do you really want our daughter to grow up being called that and have her know that we are responsible?"

I want to know if you like the feel of cold hardwood floor on your feet in the morning or the feel of carpet when you first take your rain boots and socks off after stomping puddles.

******* it, I want to know everything about you
so I can love every single one of those things with an intensity
the devout Christian envies.

He wasn't very beautiful, no.
Nothing extraordinary.
But he was everything I was looking for.
Car rides from school have been imprinted in my memory like hands in wet stone.
His cigarettes filling up my lungs with smoke and leaving my brain rushing and wild.
The way he looked at me, I couldn't even tell you.
I never had anyone look at me that way and haven't since.
It wasn't as dreamy and beautiful as I might make it seem,
Still remembering it with my former teenaged mind,
I spent most of my time wanting him to **** me in the cleaning closet upstairs at our after school job,
Or at least touch me, nervously.
But that never happened.
I did however find myself touching him.
Reaching into his soul and pulling him out until he couldn't hide from me anymore.
I made myself his home and stored his thoughts, desires and pains in myself,
Like his suicidal tendencies,
His misunderstandings and anger,
His love for my friend, Katie.
Different than ours.
I felt heartbroken,
Yet so happy as long he was,
And while it seemed unfair
I finally passed infatuation and found love in its purest form,
No matter how unfair it was.

Your unwell she says
With a look of dismay
I'm fine I insist
Tho the slits on my wrist
Suggest otherwise

Your weight is dangerously low
She tells me
I tell her, my weight is fine
As i disagree
And so commonly as we do
We agree to disagree
But to what degree was
I willing to sink
Before I reached the brink
The breaking point
You need to be here she reminds me
I reply quietly
That this place is for the sick
And me, I am fit.
I am the picture of health
I speak
Tho the weakness in my voice
Suggests quite the opposite
So in silence we sit
And wait
And the clock it ticks
As the minutes pass by
It's okay to cry
She reassuringly speaks
And slowly but surely
Those minutes pass into hours, days and weeks.
And I start to open up my eyes a little
Perhaps even start to realise
That maybe she was right and I was wrong
That maybe that self defeating song
I'd played over in my mind
Had started to unwind me from
The real me, from reality.
That maybe I wasn't quite the person I thought I had been
And that maybe those seems I'd sown
To protect myself
Had actually served in destroying my
Physical and emotional health

Breathe deeply
and lengthily
so as to avoid
becoming light headed.

You are so beautiful to me
and I want you to want me
as I want you.
I want you to read these words
the way I read the ones you write about
a boy better than me.

I think I'm better.
At many things;
at being a drug user.
Hold up, you're saying, a better drug user?
How could you be better at using drugs?
Isn't the point for addicts to stop using?
Isn't that what makes them better?
Maybe.

I only buy my **** at the lowest of prices,
yet I always make sure it's good quality,
I won't buy it again if it's not.
//
I never use two days in a row,
or at least I try not to.
I don't use like I did anyway.
****, I hardly remember this last summer,
what with all the hydrocodone,
methamphetamine cut MDMA,
***, and alcohol.
I don't think I was sober for more than two days.

But it's not like that anymore.
I don't get high on days I work,
I don't get ****** at school,
I don't drink on weekdays,
I don't pop Molly anymore.

I'm a better drug user.

i believe that a glass is half empty
or half full
depending on which way
the liquid is going
if you fill it halfway
it is half full
if you dump out half
it is half empty

i feel like half of me
has been dumped out
and i can't manage to care
about him or you
all i want to do is hurt myself
"because i probably
have it coming anyway"
and i'm sorry

i know it's a lie
i do care
i care a lot
but i feel so numb
i don't feel care right now
and i'm sorry

and all i want to do
is be drunk
and be touched
and be loved
and i don't know
if it's a good idea
because you are broken and so am i
and i am sorry

and in less than four hours
you will know
exactly how
broken
i am
and i am sorry

somedays you just
need kind words
[even if they're not meant for you.]

you get on my last nerve
you never want to talk to me
you tell me i'm your best friend
then you completely ******* off
for someone better

i really want to hate you
we've been friends for too long
but you never notice when i'm angry
you don't care when i'm upset
you're not there when i need you

but oh god
when you're drunk
off of tequila sunrise
and i'm drunk
off of a margarita
i love the way you want me

i am heavy
[with ugly emotion
that nobody
deserves.]